Heaven is on the road between Drysdale and Geelong,
Stretched luxuriously between divided roads.
On cruise control - the drivers auto- pilot
Layed back in bucket seated bliss until
Those bloody lights at Point Henry. Screech to a halt.
But til then,
The radio harps out my daydream webs
While my mind drifts on Goodyear waves and their subtle songs,
Flying through love pangs and unrequited hopes
To the city of azure and gold…
If it wasn't for that damn hill at Leopold
Where the cruise control gives out,
I nurse the poor old Mazda over the crest changing down the gears to the sexy sigh of carburettor as cruise reasserts it's self down the slope.
There is still time to ruminate,
Enjoy the simple pleasures of the open road,
Breath in the sweet bay air tainted by salt and cow hair'
The warm friendly equine and the worshipful bowing sunflower…
The acrid gastric stench of bay weed of low tide
Mire ponds at Alcoa and CSIRO's
Wet land joys.
Heaven is on the road from Drysdale to Geelong,
Somewhere between Leopold and Point Henry
Where time stands still
And God dwells in the flashing guide posts
Between blue-green haze, road peace and cruise control.
© Justyn Rowe 9 Mar 1999
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